Marbles on Glass
by MarkKB
Summary: Wheatley hated space. So he decided to do something about it.


******Note: **Due to circumstances beyond my control, I'm currently without internet (I'm posting this from a Internet café.) I'll try and reply to any reviews as fast as I can, but it may take a while. Thanks in advance!

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**Author's notes: **Alright! This is a concept that I've been floating around (hur) for a while - it's kind of an experiment in what I could do with Wheatley as the main character (and besides, I couldn't just leave poor old Wheatles in space!) I've still some major details to work out, so the next chapter might be a little while in coming, but I just wanted to get this chapter out to get some feedback and such. Thanks!

As always, the Portal and Half-Life universe belongs to the awesome guys at Valve.

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**Marbles on Glass****  
Chapter 1: The Plan**

Wheatley did not like space.

Space was large. It was humongous. Of course, Wheatley couldn't actually _go_ anywhere, since he was trapped in the Earth's gravity well and had no propulsion of his own (and thank goodness for that – if he'd somehow gotten lost in space, he was certain he'd have absolutely _no_ chance of seeing home again), but even the space along his orbit of the Earth was vast. All he'd ever known was Aperture Laboratories, which was only a few kilometres in breadth; he'd never expected the world outside to be _quite this massive_.

There was another thing. Space was also _boring_.

It was dull. There was nothing but darkness from horizon to horizon, save for the stars that dotted the landscape, and that big smog of cloudy haze in the middle. Oh, and the ruddy Earth, of course.

But more than that, he couldn't actually _do_ anything in space, because there was nothing much _to_ do. Apart from look at all the things that were either _too massive _or _too far away _to actually do _anything_ with.

"_Tra la la space walking space floating oooooh stars. In spaaaaace._"

Well, at least one of them was enjoying themselves.

"Oy, would ya knock it off already?"

The Space Core blinked his large orange optic at Wheatley as he passed him again, but otherwise said nothing more.

Wheatley sighed. The Space Core wasn't one to remain silent for very long, so he best use this time to work in as much thinking as he could.

It had, as near as his internal clock could tell him, been around two months, six days, fourteen hours and thirty-two minutes since he had been exiled by _Her_. Two months, six days, fourteen hours and thirty-two minutes of aimless spinning around a ginormous bauble with a chatterbox such as you would not wish on your worst enemy.

Not that he could blame Her, really. There was that whole (very minor, really) incident where he had gone mad with power, of course, but really, could he be blamed either? He'd been _so big_ and there was _so much to do!_ So many _glorious_ things to _tes_-

He mentally slapped himself. No need to be going there again.

But still, he reminisced, the best time in his life thus far had been the time leading up to that part, the time where he was exploring the complex with the girl in the jumpsuit, and actually _helping someone_, the time where he felt most… _useful_.

He'd _never_ been useful before, not to Her, not to the other cores, not to his nanobot boss, nor the test subjects, nor to the scientists (although he had only gotten brief glimpses of them outside the test chambers, and they had all disappeared soon after his activation, so it wasn't as if he _could_ be much help to them.) The _only_ person who'd said he'd been useful before was the raggedy man who painted pictures, and he was fairly sure he'd only said that to make him feel better.

He'd turn back time itself to have that feeling of usefulness again.

_No_, he thought, _now isn't the time to get sentimental. Now is the time for thinking. Now is the time for-_

"Hey, uh-"

_Oh, crud, it's a voice! What do I do, what do I do?_

"AAAHGH!"

_No, stop screaming, screaming won't solve anything. Time to, uh… weigh your options!_

Whatever was behind Wheatley was _definitely_ not the Space Core – he had a very distinctive voice, one of that which sounded nothing like the voice that had just spoke.

Could it be space monsters? Space cops? _Space itself?_ While the Space Core was undoubtedly… uh, _special_, he did seem to know quite a bit about space. From his babblings, Wheatley had learnt at least three constellations, the names of twelve different stars, and what Jupiter looked like from all the way over here.

And the Space Core had mentioned both monsters _and _cops as being possibilities out in space, and had talked to space as if it was alive. (That _could,_ of course, be due to his… _specialness_, since he also answered back for it, but who knows, maybe space didn't talk to just anyone?)

_Okay, strategies._ If it was a space monster – well, he had thought monsters couldn't talk. Maybe Space had meant it as an analogy? Like – well, like how he'd been a monster.

Well, anyway, if it _was_ an actual monster, he guessed he couldn't really do much. Perhaps he could give it his flashlight, and then encourage it to use it? Yes, that'd be what he'd do. The monster would die, and then they'd be saved!

But what if he didn't take it?

He could worry about that later – small stuff, really. There were other things to consider.

If it was a space cop – well, he was fairly certain they weren't doing anything illegal. At least, not according to any of the space laws Space Core had rattled out (one of which involved being the moon – "nope, you can't be the moon in space.") There was that one where he declared himself guilty of "being in space", but Wheatley had figured that was only him showing his excitement at being in the one place he'd always dreamed of all his life, rather than _actually_ being serious.

Well, even if they _were_ breaking some odd law of space, he was sure he could talk his way out of it. And if not – well, even a space court or space jail was better than staying in this empty expanse.

If it was space itself? Well, then, they were probably screwed.

Maybe they could get Space Core to convince space to not kill them! Yes, they could use Space Core's familial influence over space to protect them from harm, at least until they could get back to Earth.

Something twigged in Wheatley's mind - there was something vaguely familiar about that voice, but he couldn't quite put his finger on it. Or, at least, he wouldn't be able to if he had fingers. Which he did not. He had a torch, and handlebars, and that was about it. Hey, he could put his handlebar on it! Or not, since it's something that he _couldn't_-

"Hey, if you're ignoring me because of the things I said-"

Wheatley shook his head. _Alright, time to focus._

He could just flip his optic around, see who it was, and if it was the space cops, flip it back and pretend they weren't there. Yes, that would be the thing to do.

Wheatley hesitated a little, but then he clenched his (metaphorical) teeth and flipped his optic over.

"Oh, it's you!"

Another sphere, this one's optic green, was surveying Wheatley carefully, as if unsure what to say next. Wheatley decided to make the first stab.

"Hello, uh…"

He couldn't remember the core's name! He racked his memory subroutines, but the only result that came back had been something about explosions.

"um… Green Core?"

The green sphere's eye narrowed.

"_Explosion_ Core?"

"I told you before, my name's Rick!" he half-shouted.

But then he chuckled a bit. "Although, I must say, I kinda like that last name."

Wheatley sighed with relief; at least – uh, _Rick – _was handling it well. He already had an oddball core to live with, he didn't need an angry one as well.

"Listen," Rick continued. "About earlier – I might have said a few things at you that were a bit… _hurtful_. And I just wanted to say, it was in the heat of the moment – I know what that central AI thing does to ya, so I shoulda probably thought about that before I said them."

"Ah, no, not a problem!" said Wheatley, nodding his optic. "All water under the bridge really – the water had passed, been long gone now, and is now… probably in the ocean, being absorbed by the sun."

Mainly because he couldn't remember what Rick had said, if _anything_ – he'd been too busy lobbing bombs at the gir-

A fresh wave of shame came over him, and he decided not to continue thinking about it.

"So… where'd you go after you were, you know, sucked through the portal? How did you even _get_ here?"

"To tell ya the truth," replied Rick, "I'm not entirely sure. One moment I was floating 'round about the dark side of the moon, the Earth teeny as a flea. Decided to power down for the night s'as to conserve my energy. And _then_, when I awoke, the Earth was suddenly the size of my Aunt May, and I was floating towards you guys. Tellin' you, it was the creepiest thing this side of the Mississippi."

Wheatley slanted his eye's protected covering a bit.

"What? I wouldn' believe it either, 'less it happened to my own self."

"Er, okay then." Wheatley still wasn't entirely sure Rick wasn't just making things up to sound mysterious and stuff, but he didn't say anything – as trust went, he was hanging on a very thin thread, and he knew it.

"SPAAAAACE!" chimed in the Space Core as he made another pass.

"Oh, yeah, sorry about that as well," said Rick. "Turns out you got into space after all."

"Ooh, I know, right!" said the Space Core. "Wait, wait, wait, wait… wait… are you space?"

"Same old core, I see," said Rick.

"Yes indeed," replied Wheatley. "Wait – wasn't there another of you?"

Rick grimaced. "Oh yeah, the blowhard sphere. Fact: he was pretty much a pain in the rear end, if you catch m' meaning,"

"What happened? Uh, if you don't mind me asking."

"Last I saw he was tumblin' towards the Earth. Turns out his paramolic watchamacallit sent him on a closer pass to the moon than I did, which meant he got slingshotted around it, as he _so kindly_ explained t'me as we drifted away from each-other – all the while crowing about how superior he was for doing so."

"Ah."

As he recalled, _that_ sphere's information had been rather faulty, so it was probably a good thing he'd not run into him.

"Too bad, too – shoulda roped him in with me trusty grappling hook and given him a piece of my m-"

"Wait, you have a _grappling hook_?"

"Yessiree! Although, y'know, She told me that I'd die usin' it, but a'course I recon she was lyin' t'me to-"

This was _far_ too perfect a chance. He'd been thinking up ways of trying to get back to Earth – _anywhere_ on Earth _had_ to be better than being in space – and one of them involved nudging a satellite out of orbit and riding it to the surface.

Of course, whether by luck or misfortune, he had not managed to come in contact with a _single_ satellite. There had certainly been satellites _nearby,_ and one had passed within centimetres of him, but he'd never actually _touched one, _so he'd not been able to try out this plan.

But now was the perfect opportunity.

"-on account of 'er just a right old-"

"Hey, Rick, listen – I think I have an idea on how to get back."

Rick's optic widened.

"Y'mean… _back_ back?"

Wheatley nodded at an almost feverish rate. "Yes, yes! But I'm going to need to use your grapple."

* * *

After some minutes of explanation, and a few _hours_ of waiting, the three finally came across something.

The thing _might_ have been a satellite at some point, but years of neglect and non-maintenance had taken its toll. The titanium foil sheet that protected its insides was almost completely worn away, and its solar panels were in tatters. It was the perfect satellite, because no-one would miss it.

As it turned out, Rick's grapple aperture could be directed at will, so he could point at whatever he wanted to and, well, grapple. Still, it took at least a dozen tries of flinging and rewinding to thread it through one of Space Core's handlebars, and several more to grab Wheatley.

"OW! Watch it!" shouted Wheatley as the grapple whacked the side of his head.

"Sorry, mate, I'm a bit out of practice!" called Rick. "Been _years_ since my adventuring days, y'know!"

He recoiled the hook and flung it once again.

"Alright, that there is called 'hooking', _not_ 'threading'," said Wheatley when the grapple attached to his lower handlebar.

"Look, if we waste much more time, we're gonna loose the lady," shouted Rick – and indeed, the satellite was floating away from them at much faster a rate than he would like.

"You're right," called Wheatley. "Alright, carry out phase two!"

"Rightio!"

And then, Wheatley had the sudden sensation of being pulled through space _very_ quickly.

_BANG!_

He'd slammed against Space Core, who had been oddly silent for the past few hours.

"Oh, sorry Space!"

But Space Core continued his silence. Wheatley glanced at him nervously as they were being tugged along by Rick's grapple – was he _broken_? Despite his incessant blather, Wheatley hoped not – as much as he hated to admit it, the Space Core had grown on him a little.

_CLANG!_

The grapple had finally reached Rick again, who was pushed backwards quite a distance by the momentum of the two cores,

"Sorry there!" he called as he wound the grapple back _much_ slower than before. "Been a while since I'd had to grapple actual things, forgot all about that momentum doohicky! Haven't been adventurin' for-"

"Yes, _years_, we _know,_" replied Wheatley, quickly checking himself for damage.

At that moment, he saw something odd out of the corner of his optic. Spinning around, he confirmed his suspicion – what looked like a long, thin, dull gray-brown box with a handle was slowly rotating behind Rick.

Wheatley quickly scanned his memory banks. Thankfully, it found a match for the name of the object – he wouldn't know what he'd do if he'd accidently offended a _box_.

"Hey, Rick, is that a _briefcase_ behind you?"

Rick quickly flipped over to check.

"Oh, yeah, that's bin floatin' behind me ever since I woke up. Here we go!"

And with that, Wheatley was flung forward with incredible speed.

"ARRRGH!"

He closed his optic lids. He didn't want to see what would happen next – for all he knew, the impact might _kill_ him.

_DANK._

"Hey, Wheatles, did it hook?"

Wheatley opened his optic. Thankfully, he wasn't dead at all, although the collision _had_ left a dent where he'd run into one of the satellite's structural supports. Even better, the hook had indeed hooked around one of the beams that ran along the inside of the craft.

"It has! Good shooting, Rick!"

"Aw, shucks," replied Rick. "Alright, I'm gonna pull me and Space here in as fast as I can. Hold on!"

Wheatley briefly mused that he couldn't do anything _but_ hold on, but that thought was quickly interrupted by the vision of Rick and the Space Core speeding towards him at a quite frankly _alarming_ rate.

He scrunched his optic lids as tight as they could go. He _definitely_ didn't want to see what happened next.

_CRASH._

_Okay, I'm not dead, that's a start._

Wheatley opened his optic. All he could see was the bright-yellow iris of the Space Core, who happened to be about two centimetres in front of his face.

"Oh. Uh… hello."

The Space Core did not say a word.

Wheatley turned his thoughts to the plan. Had it worked? He couldn't feel or hear anything, so it probably hadn't worked. Yes, that was it, it hadn't worked at all, and they were all, uh, doomed. Yes, doomed to be lost in space forever, doomed to float for all eternity in the endless nig-

But then, a tremendous metallic sound, like steel girders bending under immense pressure, rang across the satellite. And slowly, but surely, they began to pick up speed.

At first, they moved at barely a crawl. But it only took a few minutes for them to begin to accelerate faster and faster – _much_ faster than Wheatley was comfortable with.

"Yee_ha_!" shouted Rick as the ball of metal hit around one-hundred and fifty miles an hour.

"_AAAAAAAAAAA-"_ screamed Wheatley.

The Space Core remained silent.

Fire began to lick the sides of the satellite, and Wheatley realised that they had just entered the atmosphere, and that were now going so fast that the sheer _friction_ of metal on air was igniting the gases that said atmosphere possessed.

"Oy, Wheatles!" yelled Rick over the roar of rushing air and fiery flames, "if y'don't mind, I'm going to activate m'sleep mode. If I don't make it out, there's no way on this green Earth that I want my last moments t'be me experiencing myself being torn apart."

"That's actually probably a good idea!" Wheatley shouted back.

And then, he remembered something.

"Hey, Rick! Just before you sleep-"

"What is it, little partner?"

"If you make it, and I don't-"

"Don't say that, we're all gonna make it."

Wheatley slanted his optic lid. Wasn't he just talking about what would happen if _he_ didn't make it?

Although he couldn't have possibly seen it, Rick seemed to get the message nonetheless. "Uh, go on, go on."

Wheatley sighed. "If I don't make it, and you do, and you come across that test subject again, tell her from me that I am really, _truly_ sorry for what I did to her. Explain that I wasn't myself, and – well, yeah, I was a monster, and I'm really sorry for that."

Rick nodded. "Of course, mate! Alright, nap time for me. See ya on the other side!"

"You too," replied Wheatley, closing his optic lid and initialising his temporary shutdown processes.

The last thing he heard before his system completely closed down was one last whisper from the Space Core:

"Goodbye, space. Goodbye, and good luck."


End file.
